A Royal Affair
by Rose Midnight Moonlight Black
Summary: She's a princess and a warrior who has no choice in union, and he's a young king and a knight who can't afford to fall in love. Somehow, it just happened and now they have to deal with it. Terry/Merina, Batman/Aquagirl series of one shots


Disclaimed: I own nothing, yeah, cool, easy to understand.

Basically, inspired by Bruce and Diana's dance, Terry and Merina's interations and a small oneshot I wrote that made me realise I *could* like Merina/Terry is necassary. It's tragic because she's possiable one of the nicest people he's every going to meet. And Yes, it's named after the song 'Shall we dance' from the King and I.

_She's a princess and a warrior who has no choice in union, and he's a young king and a knight who can't afford to fall in love. Somehow, it just happened and now they have to deal with it. Terry/Merina, Batman/Aquagirl series of one shots_

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><p><span>A<span> Royal Affair

Shall we dance?

Neither of them could say when it had started.

It was just always like that; from the very second he joined the League to her decision to pity the Newest Dark Knight, so young and fresh. From him saving her life, to her growing admiration. It was just something Batman and Aquagirl never really noticed because it just was.

But if they'd have to pick a moment where they realised they were more than teammates, it was that dance.

Merina wouldn't say that she hated diplomatic parties – they were part and parcel with her role and she'd been attending them for as long as she could remember. The sparkling jewels, a styled rainbow of clothes, overpriced decorations, low classical music that couples danced too and the ever present dry muttering of politics and socialising nonsense. No, Merina didn't hate parties but since coming to the Surface world she found their parties simply didn't fill her with the same sense of accomplishment and pride. In Atlantis she was the Princess, King Arthur's beautiful daughter. Courtiers and politicians would praise her and admire her, for she was – in her father's absence – every Atlantian's dream of a daughter and a Princess.

On the surface the League, her friends, had shown her a party where posture, poise and grace were nothing and how much fun she was having was all that mattered. Where the music was loud and all that she could hear, where she didn't think but moved as her heart chose instead of how her mind and etiquette dictated. But she never enjoyed diplomatic parties because while she knew who to talk to and who to be seen with, no one ever asked the Princess to dance. No one asked Merina to dance.

The music reminded her of the ocean as it moved, backwards and forwards, splashed and gushing and the slow graceful twirls of the dancers made her remember the simple joy, the moving up and down and all around in the water.

Merina's heart panged slightly as she took a sip of her water, standing with her head held high and her back straight. The light wind brushed some of her loose locks into her face as she watched a young surface girl be pulled on to the floor by an admirer – the girl is pretty but her posture is poor and she moves like an elephant in heels. The man is young, handsome and grinning almost indecently but he doesn't care for his partner's fault as she slides into his grip and onto the dance floor.

She knows she's staring and she knows it's rude but she couldn't take her eyes off the happy couple as they danced through the small crowd. She never dances at these parties, no admirers asking for her hand here but, secretly, she suspects that it's because her culture is so strict about these things. Everyone _knows_ it's so strict that the young men are too scared to approach her in case they somehow find themselves betrothed and the older men hold them back in case they somehow cause offence.

She doesn't care.

"May I have this dance?" She jumps when he whispers in her ears. She can't believe that he'd get so close to her without her noticing him – and when she turns to him, she does _notice_ him.

Maybe it's being so close up, or maybe it's how lonely or how homesick shec feels but she's simply struck by how beautiful the young man is. Handsome was a word that didn't cover it. He had inky black hair which was cut just above his ears, falling into the bluest eyes she had ever seen – they were like oceans of colours, all greys and blues, lights and darks. They were laughing, amused at her surprise but they were as kind as they were harsh. He had a small nose and very pale skin, like someone who didn't spend enough time in the sun, his jaw was square though his face appeared oval. His clothes, like everyone else's, were tailored and expensive yet everyone else wore it like it was fitted and natural but so like her, he wore his own as if it was a costume he was hiding in.

But what hit her the most was the feeling that she _knew_ him, and not only did she trust him but she _liked_ him. It was that small stomach shift of recognition that she failed to understand. His hand, which had been outstretched for her to take, gently (_and that was surprising-yet-not-surprising)_ took the hand that was hanging uselessly at her side all on his own. She expected him to kiss it, as most of the seductive but false men here did but he didn't. Instead he laced his fingers through hers like a friend and tilted his head towards the dance floor.

"Well, do you want to, Princess?"

Before she knew it, her dress was flaring at her feet as she was lead onto the dance floor. He cautiously placed her other hand on his shoulder and, with his eyes resting on her own as if to judge how comfortable she was, placed his on her waist. She blushed as they started to move, neither really registering their steps with particular interest but focused on each other instead.

"I... I'm sorry, sir but do I know you?" She didn't know if she wanted to be charmed or offended or simply mortified.

The man, who must surely be only twenty he was so young, laughed lightly in response. It was a good natured laugh, but it was... cooler than she had expected from him, and yet fitting.

"Sorry I'm Terry, _Princess_," he twirled her, pulling her closer – too close to be appropriate but still far enough away to hardly be indecent. What shook her most was the fact she didn't _care_ at their closeness, it was ... natural.

She decided she was definitely charmed.

"Oh. I'm Princess Merina of Atlantis," _as you already know_. She raised an eyebrow, "Do you have a last name to go with that, _Terry_?" A small unladylike smirk touched her lips.

A rather Cheshire cat like grin brushed over his lips, as if the whole thing amused him in ways she simply couldn't understand, "Yea, but I think I'll keep the whole 'man-of-mystery' thing. I hear ladies love it."

He dipped her this time, lower than the rest but certainly not enough to embarrass her. He was rather a good dancer; even if he was a bit clumsy in some areas, he was smooth and unfaltering in others. He knew just how far he could go with her. Interesting.

"Have we met before?" She questioned as she was pulled even closer, close enough to see the small scar just under his chin and feel unaffected.

"Yes, but you'll not recognise me." Was his only answer. It was frustrating because Merina knew, she _knew,_ he was telling the truth but that he was being vague on purpose.

_Where? _She bit her lip gently, absently squeezing his shoulder. Was it a conference? A meeting? A charity? Were they introduced? Was it, possibly, anything to do with her role in the league? _Where?_ She had met so many surface people that, to her shame, they all just blurred together. She noticed he shifted out of step when she pressed down on his shoulder, as if uncomfortable.

Instead she said, "It must not have been a very impressible meeting." She smiled jokingly, watching his eyes.

They lit up a little, taking the bait all too knowingly, "Maybe, but you certainly made an impression on me." He swung her out suddenly, almost knocking her off her feet before guiding her back into his chest without so much as a stumble, "That takes a lot; I'm a hard man to impress." He whispered in her ear. His arms were wrapped around her shoulders, pressing her to him tightly. Only she didn't feel trapped in his arms even as a fluster took over, she felt safe and familiar. Very familiar. His breath was warm on her cheek as she _knew_ his eyes were fluttering closed even as her own did.

She almost gasped the air as he released her and they resettled back into the 'start' position. Her eyes were only on his scar and his were on her head, neither able to look quite into the other's eyes as they moved in perfect synch again. Both were slightly unsettled by their reactions. _Where?_ She hadn't been 'familiar' in any kind of way with anyone, so how could a complete stranger's (_who didn't __feel__ like a stranger)_ embrace be known to her? Why did a man, who rightly should be making her feel uncomfortable and outraged with his open flirting, friendly teasing and gentle touch, make her relax?

_Who was he?_

They didn't notice when the song ended and another, slower waltz, started; they absently adjusted to the different tempo, moving closer as was natural and warming. The playful trickster's laugh had trickled out of Terry and Merina was so relaxed and informal that she didn't notice her posture slip or that she was pressed right against him intimately. They were simply content for a peaceful second. Her head rested softly on his shoulder as his smell washed over her. He wore a light scent, almost fruity but it was the smell underneath that interested her, the human hint that stirred something in the back of her mind and in the middle of her stomach. Something that she just couldn't remember even as it strained to break free - something she had smelled, up close and personal like now, a hundred times or more.

"Who are you?" She whispered, her breath caressing the curved scar on his neck.

He moved his hand from her waist to her lower back, intimate but respectable (_so like him_) "Don't you know?" He asked honestly.

She pulled away, almost instantly missing his warm shoulder and sleepy embrace, to look into his blue grey eyes. They were open books to her, if only she could understand the Surface language he was speaking to her in. So open and so blatant, independent but so hidden, so _secret_ yet dependable –

She took a small breath, running her hand over the scar on his neck – exactly where he took a shot meant for her not so long ago. "I... I ... we... you," Her minded raced with the understanding that hit her, of just who she was dancing with was... and what it all meant. What he _meant_. What he was_ doing..._

Then her Commlink went off in her ear. And his pager rang out from his hip. But their eyes didn't blink when he placed a small and chaste kiss on her cheek.

"I know," he admitted, "It's just... you looked so lonely. And you're not alone, Princess, even if you don't know it."

Then he was gone, fading from the room as if he had never graced it with his time or presence and she just _**stood**_ there, a hand on her cheek, heart racing. The ... not shock, but the trust was just so overwhelming that she couldn't speak for a minute. She wasn't alone, very much not so.

Then she answered the call. Because she knew he was going to be there waiting for her anyway.

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><p>Think this is what the orginal writers had in mind?<p> 


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